


So say you are (mine)

by MemeKon



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, Possessive Behavior, Watersports
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-06
Updated: 2012-07-06
Packaged: 2017-11-09 07:06:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/452688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MemeKon/pseuds/MemeKon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Mine." He snarls, feral, stripped from his humanity.</p>
            </blockquote>





	So say you are (mine)

**Author's Note:**

> Now I write watersports, apparently.

It drizzles down Stiles' chest, he grunts. It slides down his chest, coating pink nipples, and he can smell the acrid scent trailing down and down and down, reaching the boy's lower abdomen, and then his--

He growls, shuddering as the last drops stick to the skin of his hard dick.

"Mine." He snarls, feral, stripped from his humanity. "Mine." He repeats, grabbing Stiles' gobsmacked face, eyed blood red and fixed to hazel ones.

"Derek, dude..." Stiles' heart beats faster than he's ever heard it; he smells like fear, which claws at his guts, leaving him bleeding and angry. Stiles should never be scared of him.

But he also smells like cloying arousal. 

And like Derek's. Like Derek's urine, like his definite mark. Like he'll finally understand how his, how much his mate he is. 

"Mine, Stiles." And he's starting to sound like a broken record. Or just broken, a broken mess of his own want, of his own needs, of this desire to possess that consumes him.

Stiles' underwear is wet, see-through, clinging to his penis like a second skin. He can see it twitch at his words, can almost taste the beads of pre-come mingling with his piss. 

"Mine." He almost sobs, biting on Stiles' lips and licking into them. "Mine. Please."

Stiles moans, brings his own hands to Derek's chest. He swallows, Derek watching the bobbing motion of his throat with hunger written all over him. Then Stiles lets out, deep, wrecked:

"Okay. Okay, Derek. Yours."

And he doesn't smell like a lie. Or fear, anymore.


End file.
